


Watershadows

by JoAsakura



Series: Shine on, you Crazy Snowflake (DMC) [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2005 Yaoi-Con Anthology. Can Dante clear his head in a land of masks and secrets?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything is doubled

Love Planet Exotic Dancers Club, a Tuesday night. January, 20XX.

Outside: Cold as warlock's balls in a brass jockstrap.  
Inside: Definitely not cold.

"I'm just sayin', Snow White," Enzo waved a meaty hand as a big-breasted ladyboy in a sparkling cowgirl outfit gave him a particularly energetic lapdance, "you been a little off yer game."

"Fuck off. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me, you fat bastard," Dante said sourly over the rising pile of shot glasses on the table between them. Enzo had a disturbingly high alcohol tolerance for a human, and the last time Dante could remember being able to get truly drunk involved a gallon of ethanol and several shots of veterinary tranquilizers, but they were on the house, considering Enzo had a serious majority in the ownership of the club.

"Nothin' wrong, he says," Enzo said to the stripper. "Two words, Snow White: East River."

Dante glowered at him. "That's low."

"Not as low as that dumpster was when we fished your ass out of it, Snowflake." Enzo shoved a fifty-dollar bill in the ladyboy's cleavage and sent hem off with a swat on the bottom. "Look. You wanna be a workaholic, it's all good, kiddo, but you're fried. Even I think you're overworked, and not fer nothin', but that big tower that wiped out alla downtown? That freaked even me out."

"I'm not supposed t'get freaked out, Enzo," Dante offered, sighing in disgust as he sat back, watching the thumping drum and bass make the shot glasses dance across the tabletop. "I'm not...."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not human. Whatever." The big man slid an envelope toward Dante.

"Enzo.…"

"Take it, you douche bag." Enzo sat back and slugged back another single malt. "I'll hunt you down myself if you don't take a friggin' break and get your head on straight."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Marco Polo International Airport, 12 hours later.

Early on in his association with Enzo, Dante had come to one solid conclusion: he absolutely didn't want to know the extent of the big man's connections. He just knew those same connections had gotten him through customs on both ends with a demon sword the length of his leg and two overpowered spirit-handguns, in addition to his actual duffle bag. In the back of his brain was a low-grade itchy complaint. Force Edge. Not exactly sentient, the sword still seemed to convey incredible offence at being put in cargo.

"Signore Sparda? Signore Sparda!"

Dante whirled at his name, blinking at the smaller, rounder Enzo-clone approaching him.

"Cousin Enzo, he say, 'Sforzio! You take care of this sciocco fiocco di neve I send to you for his vacation.'" He gave Dante a deeply unwelcome hug that carried a whiff of the same caustic aftershave that Enzo also used. "Welcome to Italia! We go to Venezia, to Carnevale, and all your troubles, they disappear!"

"Uhm. That's.…" He sighed. "Venezia?" Jet lag had made him even more irritable than the sword was.

"Oh, Venice. You have heard of Venice, yes?"

"Venice, yeah. Gondolas and shit."

"Gondolas and shit, the snowflake say." Sforzio made a rude gesture. "Enzo, he say you have terrible manners. This was no lie." Then he laughed and clapped Dante on the back. "But he also say the idiot is a good egg."

"Thanks...I...think?"

"I see your face, boy, and you are thinking, 'Mother of God, I am stuck with Enzo's cousin for the whole of my visit?'" He laughed at the rueful expression that crossed Dante's face. "Never fear. You need anything, you call, but I leave you alone."

Dante scratched through his hair. "Thanks. Look, sorry to be an ass and everything. It's been a crazy year."

"Venezia and Carnevale will take your mind off it."

"That's a pretty tall order."

"Phah! We have a saying, 'In Venice, all emotion, she is…she is doubled. The water reflects all.' You will find much to occupy your mind."

Dante was unsure if that sounded just a little ominous.


	2. Kissing a shadow

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

St. Marks Place, days later.

He was running out of ways to express the word "bored".

It wasn't that Venice wasn't beautiful. It was. But architecture and history were among the things that were generally lost on Dante. He was too used to seeing things in terms of how easily they might break, and if they were useful in terms of weapon, coverage, or obstacle. It wasn't even that Venice wasn't interesting, he considered, as he pushed through a throng of elegantly costumed masquers and soft-bodied tourists to find some quiet at the edge of the nearest canal. It was interesting. Colourful. Even the local demon and half-breed populations seemed to be respecting the unspoken laws of Carnival, he noticed, scenting them briefly in the costumed crowds. Maybe Enzo was right -- a terrible thing to consider, really. He couldn't unwind. Leaning his hands on the stone railing, he felt an itch across one palm where Yamato's bite had long since healed.

The mist rising off the water was fogging his vision underneath the devil's half mask Enzo's cousin had foisted on him, no doubt at Enzo's personal request. He was going to kick that fat guido's ass through all five boroughs when he got home. He clenched the railing a little harder, feeling the stone give slightly as he fought the urge to wipe his eyes.

"In the city of Carnival, you seem very alone."

The voice startled him, never a good sign. Dante turned, coat wheeling around him. A man's voice, a man's height, but he would've been hard pressed to tell otherwise from the flowing black robe and elegant predatory mask rendered in stark white.

"I prefer it that way." Dante dusted off his gloves. The man was standing on a gondola, floating silently in the water. "And no. I don't want a tour."

There was a low chuckle from the mask, a delicious thrill of sound that left a warm, vaguely queasy feeling in Dante's kidneys. Despite himself, he hoped he'd hear it again.

"I'm no tour guide. Simply...looking for a little company from a fellow traveler while I take in the…sights." He said that last word with a tone that conveyed something very different from villas and statuary.

Dante looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged broadly, stepping down the edge of the canal. He caught his reflection in the water as he did. "I look like a total idiot," he muttered.

There was that ripple of laughter again. "I think you make quite the handsome devil."

The gondola rocked slightly under Dante's added weight and they brushed against each other. The body under those long black robes was hard as his own, with palpable warmth. He liked that. Women were definitely nice, with their soft, cuddly curves, but….

But.

Hard was familiar, comforting, arousing. It made the little hairs on his arm tingle under the leather of his coat.

From the shadows of the mask, lips, slightly rough, brushed his ear. "You should sit down. I'd hate to lose you to the water."

"This careful with all your passengers?" Dante shivered faintly from the warmth of the stranger's breath. Sforzio had mentioned to him Carnival's treasured history of flirting and seduction, and he was starting to warm to it.

"Tonight? Only you," came the silky reply, one black-gloved hand closing over Dante's and gently tugging him to the bench.

"I thought someone had to pole one of these things…." Dante sat, knees brushing the stranger's, phantom scar itching under the warmth of the hand on his.

"It's magic, really."

Wry, that, the gondola slipping through the water with barely a ripple.

Dante recognized that under most normal circumstances, this would be setting off a four alarm internal warning, but this felt nice. It would've even been comfortable if he hadn't been in the process of developing the biggest hard-on he'd had in months.

"So, you got a name?" he asked, just a little stupidly, watching his fingertips disappear into the shadow of the mask before the scrape of teeth against leather shivered through his arm.

"There are no names in Carnival, didn't you know that, pretty devil?" The stranger pressed a kiss to Dante's palm and half released his hand. Dante didn't try to pull it away. "We're just shadows like everyone else here."

"What's it like, kissing a shadow?" Dante felt a little of his old good humour returning.

The reply was the faintest brush of lips on his.

Dante had had less chaste kisses from Enzo's half-blind and crazy strega grandmother, but never one that burned so on his skin. He leaned forward to chase it, soft sound of masks brushing against each other even as the tips of their tongues met, butterfly kiss soft and moist.

They passed under the shadow of a bridge, and the chill was more than just the lack of hazy twilight. He backed away slightly, cursing softly to himself. "I don't think we're alone."

Fleshy and dripping with the canal's dark water, tentacles slapped onto the gondola, rocking it violently. Baleful red eyes peered up from the bubbling surface as the beast heaved itself upwards. Dante's hands reached at his sides, automatic response kicking in, but the handguns were back at the hotel.

With his sword.

"Just great. Friggin' calimari on the hoof, and me without a fork." He caught a glint of the stranger's gaze out of the corner of his eye. "Friends of yours?"

"Not hardly," the other man said blandly, hand closing on the gondola pole. "Are you familiar with the better part of valour, pretty devil?"

"I don't run from a fight, especially not with Satan's Seafood Special." Dante grabbed a tentacle and tore it off to punctuate his words, even as another slid across the tiny boat, slamming into them both.

The pole lashed out, whistling past Dante's face to slap back the tentacles as the gondola rocked violently. "We flee or we end up in its element…and frankly I…."

The stranger's words were cut short as the demon reared up with a wet roar and crushed the little craft under a massive blow.

Dante hated when other people were right.

~~~

A few chaotic, soggy moments later they were on a small stone pier, coughing out murky water and laughing hoarsely. Beyond, the canal bubbled ominously for a moment and then calmed.

The stranger's robes drooled water on the ancient cobbles, but his mask remained firmly in place. Dante's, while still attached, was askew. He shook his head and laughed again, quieting when the stranger's hands closed over his, keeping him from removing it fully.

"Don't. One doesn't unmask during carnival...." The warm fingers gently straightened Dante's mask before he sat up. "That was the most fun I've had in quite some time." One hand disappeared into the darkness of his robes and Dante watched with intense fascination, hoping for some glimpse of what lay within.

He pressed something hard into Dante's hand: metal, cooling but still faint with the man's own warmth. "Come see me, pretty devil. I'd like to see you again."

"You're...leaving?" Dante sat dripping on the stones as the stranger stood. There was a plaintive note in his voice that he hated; he coughed in an attempt to hide it.

"Yes." His voice was cool as the masked face tipped, shadowed eyes gazing down at Dante, the weight of his gaze hard and appraising. It made the young man feel suddenly very much naked despite the wet leathers and elaborate half-mask. "The ball? In your court, pretty devil."

In the shadows of the mask there was the glint of a wicked smile as he turned, black robes rippling around him as Dante watched him go. It wasn't until the other left that he unclenched his hand and looked at what was there.

A key. Ancient, rusted and ornate. Conversa d'Sant'Anna in faded, spidery etching.

Dante closed his hand around it until it hurt.


	3. Everything you said it'd be

Several days later.

He was lying in his hotel room as he had been for the last couple of days. In the dull warmth he sprawled naked on the hard bed, stroking himself. This was nothing new. Masturbation was a daily event taking higher precedence than tooth brushing or bathing. Most of his fantasies were based on Vergil -- memories, mostly: pushing him down, fucking him like an animal in the ruins of their parents' home, kissing his wounds with a rough tongue and soft, open lips -- and a few of the "What the fuck am I doing?" variety that revolved around Enzo, including a particularly disturbing one involving Enzo, Tony Redgrave and a vintage Colt .45.

But this was different, he knew. Just as he knew it was going to lead him into trouble, but he couldn't stop imagining it. That warm, warm mouth on his cock. Big, hard body grinding him into the bed. He thrust hard into his hand, suckling his other fingers before arching, sliding them into his own ass.

It was a trap. It had to be a trap. The stranger was no more human than he was. But he wanted. Gods, he wanted. He slammed hard against his hand again, stretching himself wide and empty. He needed and he wanted and this was going to get him killed one day and Carnival was almost over and he had to feel that warm, hard man in the black robe screw him senseless.

His imagination pumped that vision directly into his groin and he came, warm and sticky, across his belly. Dante glanced over at the key on his nightstand.

Well, damn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
The Convent of Saint Anna

It was snowing when Dante arrived, fat white flakes falling from a dim grey sky, blanketing the city. People still in costume looked like spring flowers poking out from the snow as they moved through the streets.

The convent itself was a picturesque ruin, definitely condemned, insofar as "warning" signs looked universally similar, and very liable to fall over if someone looked at it the wrong way. Dante watched for a moment, the lazy snowflakes drifting down to cover the ruins. It was as if the city were some enormous snow globe.

He leapt the fence with the barest effort, red coat snapping out around him as he landed. The air was cold on his unmasked face, but he'd come dressed for war. The red coat was his armour and his banner -- something Vergil would think. Lifting his chin, he strode across the silent courtyard, snow crunching beneath his boots. The normal city sounds of Venice seemed a million miles away. His fingers automatically took stock, caressing his guns, Force Edge's hilt.

They were comforting. He was crazy. And this was going to get him killed someday.

But he needed.

The fog of his own breath preceded him into the somehow colder air of the ruined parlour. A faint scrap of sound drew his attention and led him up the narrow stone stairs, the flicker of candlelight beckoning from what seemed to be one of the few semi-intact rooms left in the convent.

God, it's warm in here. Almost sultry compared to the sharp-edged winter air outside. Warmer still, when soft breath kissed the back of his neck.

"Pretty Devil…tch. No mask?" The heavy drape of the man's robes surrounded him as one warm hand reached around to stroke Dante's face. "Or…is this another mask? The stern face of the Hunter?"

Dante shivered, tipping his head back. "You can't blame a boy for being prepared." He turned slowly in the stranger's arms, those warm fingers tracking across his face until they pressed against his lips.

"An excellent survival trait," the man purred beneath his mask, shaded eyes glittering as he watched Dante lap his fingertips. "Your instincts…told you not to come here. You should probably listen to them more often," he said, tenderness at odds with the sudden, jaw-rattling force with which he slammed the devil hunter against the stone wall, black-leather fingers tightening on his throat.

Two things immediately flashed through Dante's mind. First: he should be glad that he wasn't surprised by this. Second: as uncomfortably hard as he'd been with anticipation before, it had just gotten immeasurably worse.

This was definitely going to get him killed someday.

"You know…." Dante swallowed, feeling the constriction on his throat. "I don't think you really want to kill me. You had me unarmed earlier. Hell…you could've done this whenever you wanted." He stroked the back of the hand that was tight against his throat. "This Carnival…it's a time to let go, isn't it?"

The stark mask leaned closer, brushing against Dante's cheek, and something moist flicked against his ear. A tongue…a demon's tongue, rough and hot. "You're a lot quicker upstairs than rumour makes it, little devil hunter." It was terrible and fond, black cloak rippling around them. "Close your eyes. If I see one tiny glimmer of that pretty blue, I'll rip them out and feed them to you," he murmured, fingers brushing across Dante's eyelids.

The hand on his throat didn't lessen its grip, but there was a soft rustle of sound, and smooth skin and soft hair was against his face as that demon's tongue slipped in his mouth. Dante pressed his hands against the stone wall, ghost scar aching across his palm. It's so easy to pretend…. There were too many touches against him for one man to give, he thought -- correction: Not a man -- sliding his coat off, slipping warm and fierce down his belly, even as the fingers on his throat stroked the hammering pulse there. Silken touches, the living darkness of the man's cloak stripping him bare.

"Lovely." Impossibly hot mouth on his nipples, on his navel, around his cock -- better than even his fantasy -- and Dante bucked against it, only to be rewarded with retreat. "Tch. You have miserable self-control."

That wonderful mouth against his again, swallowing the devil hunter's complaints, thigh grinding between Dante's legs, pressing him harder against the wall. Force Edge was half off his back with the nearly-removed coat, but the sharp edges of the crosspiece dug into his back, the guns pressed into his kidneys.

"I need you," Dante rasped, fingers clawing at the wall.

"I know, pretty one." Sharp teeth nipped his lower lip, the copper taste of Dante's own blood trickling into his mouth. "Did you know this convent was shut down by the city during the renaissance? The nuns were reputed to be lascivious and consorting with demons…."

He shoved Dante down on the remains of the bed, the rotting coverlets smelling of dust and age. "Do you think any of them were got with such wonderful little half-breeds like yourself?"

Dante just grunted softly in response, shuddering as the stranger nosed through the hair on the back of his neck. He didn't want to interrupt him, wanted him to keep talking, even if it was boring history -- that some small part of him insisted he might want to listen to, a small part drowning in the hammering of his heart in his ears.

He had to bite back Vergil's name as the man's cock, hot and huge and not entirely human-feeling tore into him. It was perfect, bliss and pain as Dante drove back against him with a growl that got him sharp teeth in his shoulder. The living darkness caressing him now scrabbled down his belly and his shaft with tiny claws and Dante swore he heard his name being murmured at the base of his skull.

As the stranger hammered him into the ruined bed, he yanked Dante's hand out from under him, stretching for a moment to run that too-warm tongue over Vergil's ghost scar. The first time he'd devil-triggered had been like the best fucking he'd ever had in his life, even if �" because -- he'd been on the receiving end of a near deathblow from his twin. This was like that. So much too much that it was perfect.

And in the end, he screamed out Vergil's name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He woke up cold. The room was a dusty, shattered ruin in the unforgiving winter light streaming through the watery glass.

He rubbed a hand across faint fading scars on his belly and gingerly sat up. The room smelled like sex in the cold. His own musk. He would've doubted his sanity if it hadn't been for the fact that he wasn't sure he could stand.

The sudden bleating of his cell phone in the cold silence startled him more than anything else could have. "What?" he barked into it.

"Ah, this is Sforzio…I try to reach you at your hotel, and they say, 'The Snowflake, he is not here.' So, I worry a little bit. I worry that maybe Carnivale does not agree with you?"

Dante looked at the phone and started to laugh hysterically.

"It was everything you said it'd be."


End file.
